


Dangerous Games

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: Duncan wants a Grey Warden recruit. Aedan Cousland...wants something else entirely.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoCustos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoCustos/gifts).



> This is a bit of a mish-mash of prompts, so I hope it turned out okay!

He wants Aedan Cousland the moment he sees him practicing in the ring, his sword a grey blur as he lunges and parries, driving his opponent back. There's the usual flourishes and silliness the nobility always seem to pick up from somewhere, but underneath that is a fine swordsman, ready to become a brilliant one with the right opportunities.

A brilliant leader, too, if Duncan is any judge: Cousland knows how to push his father's soldiers to the limit of what they can do, matching them blow for blow until they drag up reserves to keep fighting because they don't want to disappoint him. And for all his single-minded purpose when his helmet is on, Cousland smiles readily when it's off, matching their jokes as readily as he matched their blows.

A man born to lead, with more than his share of charm and a sword arm Duncan will envy once Cousland has some real fighting experience: he's everything the Grey Wardens need in a country that still mistrusts them even as a Blight threatens.

He's also entirely off limits, unless Duncan wants to risk what little goodwill the Wardens have managed to build in Ferelden. Conscripting Teyrn Cousland's son is no way to win friends, and Ferelden's Grey Wardens need friends more than they need one fighter, however talented.

Duncan sighs and forces his attention to Ser Gilmore. The man is more than suitable, and Duncan knows better by now than to give up a good choice in favor of chasing after a perfect but unobtainable one. He wants Aedan Cousland, but not nearly enough to risk angering the teyrn.

###

It's Aedan's sword arm and ability to lead that are at the forefront of Duncan's thoughts, right up until they're actually introduced a few hours later. When Aedan extends a hand, Duncan clasps it without thinking, nodding politely to acknowledge the introduction. Aedan looks him over, a strange combination of excited boy and experienced fighter, and then he smiles.

His smile is decidedly warmer than polite as he keeps hold of Duncan's hand just a breath too long, and when he turns to address his father, he shifts so his shoulder is just close enough to brush against Duncan's. Duncan arches an eyebrow at him, amused that he's so quick to flirt when his father and his father's friend are right beside them. Given his age, he's remarkably subtle, but that's not exactly a high standard.

The teyrn is either too absorbed in other concerns or deliberately ignoring the exchange, focusing instead on last minute plans for their march to Ostagar. Aedan asks a dozen questions, a bit of the excited boy leaking in again, and Duncan has to give him credit: for all his obvious disappointment at being left behind, he understands the need. It only makes Duncan sorrier he'll be leaving here with Cousland's knight instead of Cousland's son.

Aedan's parting handshake lingers the way his greeting did, giving Duncan a pleasant jolt and yet another reason to regret that Aedan is a Cousland. He suspects seducing the teyrn's son would only be marginally more acceptable than conscripting him, and Duncan is here for the Grey Wardens, not his own pleasure. Beyond that, Aedan Cousland is young and sheltered, likely without any experience in the kinds of games Duncan prefers.

There are bad ideas, and then there are terrible ideas, and Duncan is more than old enough to know exactly which this is.

###

To Duncan's amusement and frustration both, Aedan spends the rest of the day trying to convince him otherwise.

Aedan doesn't trail after him, but somehow, he's always nearby with a question or a joke, taking any excuse to stand too close. His instincts are sound, taking him off on other errands before he becomes irritating, and bringing him back at the right moment to be entertaining rather than needy. The charm Duncan saw on display earlier is out in force now, a full-scale assault that Duncan is sure has always worked in the past. On top of everything else, it's enough to be a little tempting, but only a little.

Cousland isn't stupid, either: he issues his invitation to practice when there are other soldiers around, soldiers who are eager to cross blades with a Grey Warden. Duncan would have declined Aedan alone--he knows exactly what will happen next if he agrees--but it's harder to decline gracefully when a score of soldiers are all but begging for the chance. Even knowing what will happen, Duncan still finds himself agreeing.

It's no surprise at all when Aedan suggests hand-to-hand fighting, with Duncan as instructor and himself as a partner for the demonstration. After an hour spent tumbling around the practice yard with Aedan twisting against him, Duncan is half hard and entirely amused. It isn't going to work, but Aedan certainly gets high marks for the attempt.

 "You can stop," Duncan murmurs when they've all paused for water. The soldiers are far enough away not to hear, and Aedan is once again leaning too close.

"Stop what?" Aedan asks innocently, licking a drop of water off his lower lip with deliberate thoroughness.

Duncan shakes his head, swallowing back a laugh. "I'm as lowborn as they get, and I doubt your father would be amused to find you in my bed."

"My father doesn't care who I fuck," Aedan says cheerfully. He takes another drink of water, followed by another slow lick of his lips as he looks up at Duncan with a wicked grin. "Or who fucks me."

There's no chance for Duncan to respond before one of the soldiers breaks away from the crowd to come ask him a question. Just as well, because Duncan isn't sure what the right answer would have been.

Practice resumes, as does Aedan's campaign. He's not bolder, exactly--Duncan is reasonably sure most of the soldiers have no idea what's going on--but he is more direct, taking advantage of every time they're pressed together. Somehow, his mouth ends up by Duncan's ear far more than it should, his harsh breathing like a hand on Duncan's cock.

It needs to stop before Duncan does something he'll regret, and he grabs his opportunity when they break for the evening, soldiers scattering to their posts or the barracks for supper. Aedan doesn't go with them, instead standing hipshot and cocky, grinning a challenge at Duncan.

A challenge Duncan would accept from anyone else, but now he frowns and puts a bit of threat in his voice as he says, "You're playing a dangerous game."

The effect is immediate, if not the one he expected: Aedan's eyes go dark and his lips part with a soft, wet sound. Before Duncan can recover, Aedan takes a deep, uneven breath and whispers, "I hope so."

Maker save them both. His expression is pure want, and for a moment, all Duncan can imagine is shoving him to his knees. Would he still look like that with a cock in his mouth, begging with his eyes even as he fights for air?

"M'lord?" someone calls from their left, and Aedan's expression returns to something more suitable for the practice field.

"A moment," he calls over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Duncan. He licks his lips again and adds in a low voice, "I've always liked dangerous games," before turning to meet the servant coming toward them.

###

Dinner is torture.

Aedan claims the space beside him at the table and proceeds to tease in all the most beautifully painful ways. He rests an arm on Duncan's shoulder to talk around him and leans in close whenever the noise in the hall provides an excuse, always holding at least a bit of Duncan's attention. He even sneaks his hand under the table occasionally, stroking his fingers up the inside of Duncan's thigh and brushing his knuckles against the cloth beginning to strain over Duncan's cock.

Duncan could tell him to stop, and yet, somehow, he never does. The longer it goes on, the more those touches on his leg linger, Aedan's hand too hot through the fabric. Fantasies of Aedan on his knees are now nearly all Duncan can think of, except when they're interrupted by fantasies of Aedan bent over the table.

It's almost amusing to think that only this morning, Duncan looked at him and wanted him for nothing more than his skill with a sword. Now it's a completely different kind of skill he's wondering about.

###

Given that it is dinner, Duncan has to assume food was served, but when he stands up from the table, he doesn't remember a bit of it. He's still trying to decide if he has enough willpower to go to his own room instead of following Aedan when Fergus Cousland interrupts his thoughts to ask about the route to Ostagar. Part of Duncan wants to answer him quickly and escape, but he has just enough sense to ignore that impulse.

The dining hall is empty but for the two of them by the time Fergus has all his questions answered, and Duncan isn't sure if he's irritated or relieved. Perhaps some of both, he decides, as he heads for the room the Couslands have given him. He refuses to think about the fact that Aedan knows exactly which room is his.

 His door is open a crack when he gets there, and from within, he can hear the sound of pacing feet. It could be anyone, but Duncan doesn't even pretend to be surprised when he finds Aedan inside, barefoot and shirtless. His eyes are dark again, the outline of his hard cock plainly visible, and Duncan hopes there are no guards in this section of the hallway right now.

He doesn't get a chance to think about anything else before Aedan pushes him back against the door for a hard kiss, hands tangling in his hair and tongue thrusting into his mouth.

Duncan puts a hand in the center of Aedan's chest, shoving him back far enough to break the kiss. "I told you this was a dangerous game."

"I know," Aedan says. His eyes are black in the dim room, his breathing too fast. "I know, please, I want it, I want...I want..." His mouth works soundlessly for a moment, then he closes it and shakes his head hard, clearly frustrated with himself.

If he can't even say what he wants, then this truly is a terrible idea. The potential for trouble is enough to let Duncan regain a little of his control, and he's about to end this as gently as he can when Aedan gives up on words.

Stepping back, he unlaces his trousers and lets them drop to the floor, holding out his arms to put himself on display. It's a beautiful display, his body lean and strong, his cock hard between his legs, and oh, this is still a terrible idea but how Duncan wishes it wasn't.

Then he almost swallows his tongue when Aedan crosses to the room's small desk and bends over to brace his hands on the edge. He looks back over his shoulder and says in a husky voice, "If you're not leaving bruises, then it's not that dangerous."

Or maybe this isn't such a terrible idea, and if it is, Duncan isn't sure he cares anymore. Two quick strides take him to Aedan's side, and one sweep of his arm clears everything off the desk. The crash as it all hits the floor doesn't make Aedan so much as flinch. If anything, he looks more desperate than ever, and when Duncan knocks his arms out from under him to shove his chest down on the desk, he groans, back bowing to lift his ass a little higher. He grabs the opposite edge of the desk, holding on so tight his arms shake.

One hand between his shoulder blades, Duncan shoves the other between his thighs to push them farther apart, not even trying to be gentle. Aedan is panting, whispering "fuck me, please fuck me, oh Maker" into the top of the desk. His neck is bent to press his forehead hard against the wood, and there's a quivering tension through his body that Duncan can _feel_.

Aedan's ass is already slick, and the thought of him fingering himself while he waited is enough to steal the last of Duncan's control. He tugs impatiently at the laces of his trousers, freeing his cock as he steps up close behind Aedan.

"Please," Aedan begs as Duncan spreads the cheeks of his ass wide. He draws a breath like he intends to say more, but it turns into a long, low moan as the head of Duncan's cock presses into him.

Duncan leans over him, using the weight of his body to pin Aedan to the desk, reveling in the way Aedan arches into him as best he can. With his mouth behind Aedan's ear, he growls, "Was this what you wanted?"

Aedan laughs breathlessly and says between gasps, "You haven't... left bruises...yet."

"I will," Duncan promises, and Aedan groans out, " _Please_."

Duncan presses down with his full weight so Aedan has to fight for each breath, making sure he understands how much stronger Duncan is. Just for a moment, then he straighten, grabbing Aedan's hips tightly. If Aedan wants bruises, fine.

His first thrust is rough, and the ones that follow are rougher. He slams into Aedan, dragging his hips back so their bodies meet with a sharp slap each time. Aedan's fingers hold tight to the far side of the desk, his arms occasionally straining to maintain the position as Duncan pulls him backward. Somehow he even manages to twist occasionally, as if this is all too much and he can't hold still, his shoulders flexing and his head rolling back and forth to make up for the way the rest of him is held in place.

It's been a long time since Duncan had anyone but his own fist for company, and Aedan is so completely, unashamedly eager it's impossible not to react to it. Duncan shifts his grip, letting go with one hand and deliberately digging in with the fingertips of his other to put all the pressure on the smallest amount of skin possible. If Aedan wants bruises, then by the Maker, Duncan will leave him with bruises. Probably a sore ass, too, but if Aedan minds, he gives no sign. He's mumbling "yes" and "please" and "oh fuck," the words sometimes stretching out into a groan when Duncan thrusts particularly hard.

 Duncan wraps his free hand around Aedan's cock, letting each thrust drive it into the rough grip of his fingers. The muscles in Aedan's body ripple from neck to knees and his head thrashes against the wood of the desk. His hips try to roll despite Duncan's hold on them, and his begging turns wordless, an almost-continuous moan that feeds the heat building low in Duncan's gut.

Heat that demands he move faster, harder. His hips are snapping forward now, and whatever bruises his fingers are leaving, Aedan will have a matching set from the edge of the desk. Heedless, Aedan is rocking back to meet him as best he can, grinding his own hips down into the unforgiving wood, and his breath hitches in a sob when Duncan leans down to cover his body once again. Their skin is slick with sweat, and the feel of Aedan writhing under him tests his control to its limit.

"You'll ache tomorrow," he breathes into Aedan's ear. Not a warning but a reminder of his promise. "Every time you move, you'll remember." He makes his next thrusts long and hard, punctuating his words. "Every. Single. Step."

Aedan stops breathing, and his ass clenches tight around Duncan's cock as he spends himself in hot spurts, and that's all Duncan was waiting for. He stops trying to hold off his own climax and lets himself sink into the pure sensation of it, pounding into Aedan as he shudders with aftershocks, and that first choking gasp as Aedan begins to breathe again has Duncan thrusting in one last time, deep as he can get as pleasure rolls through him in searing waves.

When he can uncross his eyes, he braces his hands on the desk to get himself upright once again. Aedan mutters a protest, then gives a pained hiss as Duncan pulls out.

Before Duncan can ask if he's all right, Aedan straightens and turns, dragging him down for a messy, breathless kiss. By the time they break apart, Aedan's cock is showing signs of recovery--ahhh, to be nineteen again--and Duncan is no longer the least bit in doubt as to whether he enjoyed himself.

The bruises on Aedan's hips are already beginning to come up, and he pushes Duncan back a step so he can look at them, brushing his fingers over them and smiling to himself.

Amused, Duncan says, "I told you this was a dangerous game."

Aedan's eyes glint appreciatively, and he strokes his fingers over the bruises again. "And I told you I've always liked dangerous games." There's a playful challenge in his voice.

"Was this one dangerous enough?" Duncan asks, matching his tone.

"It was a start," Aedan says. The invitation is clear, made clearer by the way he reaches down to stroke his half-hard cock.

Duncan hasn't been nineteen for a long time, and he certainly won't be fucking Aedan again tonight. That doesn't mean there aren't other games they could play.

He takes a step forward to back Aedan up against the desk, taking advantage of his height and broader shoulders to loom over the smaller man. "A start?" he asks threateningly.

And Aedan smiles.


End file.
